


That hanged themselves for love

by potooyoutoo



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potooyoutoo/pseuds/potooyoutoo
Summary: Jakes attends the funeral of Endeavor Morse.





	That hanged themselves for love

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about these two, so obviously I had to write something sad about them. I was introduced to the works of A. E. Housman as a result of this fandom, and immediately fell in love. His work has this melancholy tone that just sits well with me. Anyway, this piece was largely inspired by poem XVI from ["A Shropshire Lad"](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5720?msg=welcome_stranger). The title of this piece comes from that poem as well.
> 
> This is unbeta'd (since it's pretty short), so any and all mistakes are my own.

Jakes watches silently as the casket is carried past.

It was a short and simple affair, the funeral. So much like the man it honored. As the preacher had droned on, Jakes had sat stiffly in the back row, eyes fixed on the wood of the coffin at the front of the little chapel. No one had spoken to him when he entered, no one seemed eager to approach him now. Jakes found this just fine. He wasn't in the mood for chit chat. Not today.

He followed slowly as the pallbearers made their way into the little graveyard, all the way to the back where fresh dirt lay heaped up alongside the open grave. Jakes paused back a few yards, not certain that he could bear to watch the dirt slowly cover the polished lid of the casket. No, this was close enough for now. His fingers twitched slightly, itching for a cigarette but unwilling to pull one out. He'd promised once, some thirty years ago now, that he'd stop. _This one's for you,_ Jakes thought, nodding at the slowly filling grave.

It took them twenty minutes to finish up, and Jakes waited patiently, fingers idly fidgeting with his now largely useless lighter. As soon as the pallbearers gathered up their shovels, dusting off their hands and departed, Jakes stepped forward. An ache, sharp and agonizing, bloomed in his chest as he read the precisely carved lettering on the modest headstone.

 

_Endeavour Morse_  

_1935 – 1996_

 

The inscription felt sterile, plain in a way that didn't do the man they identified any justice. Jakes frowned, taking a moment before reaching into his coat pocket and drawing out a small book with a plain black cover. It was well worn at the edges, the corners of the binding folded down and the fabric fraying. Inside, the pages were marked and folded, annotated by two sets of careful hands, one neat and almost painfully precise, the other more open and lax. _Complementary_ , he'd always said. Flipping through the pages with practiced ease, Jakes found the page he wanted, finger tracing slowly across the pair of stanzas almost reverently.

“I suppose you would have found this ironic, but you always were a touch dramatic,” Jakes told the silent headstone. Softly, as if murmuring into a lover's ear, he recited:

   

_It nods and curtseys and recovers_  

_When the wind blows above,_

_The nettle on the graves of lovers_

_That hanged themselves for love._

 

_The nettle nods, the wind blows over,_

_The man, he does not move,_

_The lover of the grave, the lover_

_That hanged himself for love._

 

Jake's fell silent, letting the gentle sound of rustling leaves fill the space around him. Taking a slow breath, he tucked the book away again, feeling comforted by the familiar weight of it in his pocket. He stood, letting the light die around him and the shadows crawl further and further from their hosts until the sound of measured footsteps reached his ears. Turning slightly, he was only slightly surprised to find a young man hovering just a few meters away.

“You must be Lewis, then.”

The young man nodded, his expression somber and respectful. “Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

“No, it's fine. I was just finishing up.” Jakes turned back to the grave one last time, pushing back the wave of anguish that flooded his heart. He knew it would likely end like this, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. Whispering a final farewell, Jakes stepped away, falling in beside Lewis as they made their way towards the front of the chapel. “He spoke about you often. Seemed very impressed.” Jakes couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the surprised look on Lewis' face. “I know he wasn't really the sentimental type, but he liked you quite well. Told me he thought you'd go far.” Jakes fixed Lewis with a serious look. “I'm sure I don't need to tell _you_ how very hard to impress he is.”

“I...” Lewis' expression was sorrowful. “Thank you, sir.”

“Jakes,” he threw back, holding out a hand as they come to a stop beside what Jakes could only assume is Lewis' car. “DCI Peter Jakes.”

Lewis took his offered hand, eyes slightly wide. “DS Robert Lewis, sir. Um...” Lewis shuffled a little awkwardly before saying, “Would... would you like to stop for a pint?”

Jakes nodded, allowing a small smile to cross his face. “I'd like that, very much. Thank you.”


End file.
